


i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

by millcrs (remoose)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Hospitals, Nostalgia, Post-Season/Series 02, tommy's dad is steve's emergency contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remoose/pseuds/millcrs
Summary: They've had this conversation before, where she's mumbled in that way of hers thatSteve would knowand that forces Tommy to say in that way of his, that's all venom and bruising words, thatSteve's not here.And the truth is, they only felt guilty about his absence when Carol overheard Tina say that her mom heard some kid with no teeth at the grocery store yelling athismom about Steve and the hospital and BillyFuckingHargrove.
Relationships: Nancy Wheeler/Steve Harrington (past), Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington & Carol Perkins
Comments: 36
Kudos: 271





	i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so he’s been told. Tommy doesn’t know if fondness is what he’s meant to feel for Steve, but right now it feels a little more like frustration or the kind of contempt that familiarity tends to breed.

He knows Carol worries about Steve. Only knows because she keeps wearing that Springstein shirt of his to bed, from that time they drove to Illinois and only made it to a second hand souvenir shop on the border before realising that the world got too big outside of Hawkins. 

Steve had wanted the shirt. Because Springstein was sexy. Because he just _knew_ that _Dancing in the Dark_ was fifteen year old Tommy's favourite song, and wanted him to smile every time he saw Bruce's face stare up, peeling and crinkled on Steve's chest, into Tommy's own.

Carol wears it like a dress. Because she's small. Steve gave it to her to cover up because she got her period on the way home, and he went into the gas station to get them popsicles with no shirt on. Now, she pulls it over her knees and allows her toes to poke out the bottom. Royal blue, like Tommy's to remember all the fucking names of the all the fucking shades of blue that exist in the world. 

But he knows baby is her second favourite.

They've had this conversation before, where she's mumbled in that way of hers that _Steve would know_ and that forces Tommy to say in that way of his, that's all venom and bruising words, that _Steve's not here_. 

And the truth is, they only felt guilty about his absence when Carol overheard Tina say that her mom heard some kid with no teeth at the grocery store yelling at _his_ mom about Steve and the hospital and Billy _Fucking_ Hargrove _._

And the _thing_ is, you see, Tommy is good with his words. It's a morally grey area for him, because these things come to mind that know exactly how to cut deep. Because he can say without thinking, things that bruise people far beneath where their hearts lie. He's always been able to bruise Steve's insides. With Wheeler, with his cowardice, with the loss of his social status. 

But Tommy never dug deep enough to leave a scar. 

Because for all of the peacocking he did to Billy Hargrove earlier in the semester about having facts on Steve, about knowing his weaknesses, Tommy never played all his cards. He held them tight to his heart where Hargrove couldn't touch the deepest, darkest parts of Steve that hurt the most. 

He could live with that, with the words, but not with anything that would scar Steve. 

Not a punch to the face or a kick to the chest, or Jonathan Byers' fists flying _down down down_ on to Steve's face even though _he's had enough, man. I said he's had enough._

Tommy can't watch Steve be hurt. He can do the hurting himself, when he's in control of it. They’d fought so many times over the years that it’s something of a dance at this point.

But no one could control Hargrove that night, apparently. 

Because Harrington's at Hawkins General, passed the fuck out with no signs of waking up. 

And Billy Hargrove could have killed him.

And Tommy finds out later that he was going to kill Steve, but Billy's kid sister stopped him with a frying pan. 

Tommy shakes all night.

  
  


**...**

  
  


They get a call to the house and Tommy has to pretend to be his dad, like he used to pretend to be Steve's dad when they'd skip school and go swimming in the Harrington's pool. 

Carol is making her gross concoction of coffee and cocoa that is just _so European, Tommy_ , but she's listening. To his surly state of being, his gruff responses. Were she to cast her eyes aside, Carol would see the sheet-white paleness of her boyfriend, his shaking hands. Maybe she knows this. Maybe she's sparing him the shame. 

He hangs up and catches himself against the kitchen wall, phone back on the hook. 

"My dad's still Harrington's emergency contact, apparently. I guess he’s in pretty shit shape."

"But your dad's in Maine, Tommy. His shift isn't over for days." Because Tommy's dad is a trucker working a 72 hour shift and he's still around more than Steve's own parents. 

"Yeah, well, who else knows shit about his allergies and all that?" He talks like Carol even needs convincing, like she isn't about to run upstairs and grab a pair of shoes and Tommy's letterman to stay warm. "We've filled out those dumb forms a million times over. That's probably all they need my dad for."

And, it's not like they're not family. Tommy's just standing in for his dad. His dad who took a fevered Steve to the emergency room one night because he caught mono from Tracy Norgaard and couldn't swallow his own spit. They had called Steve's parents and there was no answer. Or there was an answer -- of a secretary saying she'd pass the message on. 

That summer saw Steve stuck in bed for two months, with Tommy and Carol glued to his side like a poorly constructed, diseased sandwich. Steve cracking jokes about how he and Carol couldn't make out behind Tommy's back anymore, between passing in and out of fever dreams and needing help on his journeys to the bathroom. 

Tommy's done this before, a few times around. For a while there it felt like Steve could have disappeared off the face of the earth and only he and Carol would have noticed. 

Of course, that was before Nancy Wheeler. 

Nancy was everything Steve had thought he needed. Tommy only knew this because he knew Steve’s parents; well, as much as anyone could know Steve’s parents. 

His best friend longed for some form of stability -- or so he thought. A humble, two-up two-down off Dearborn and Maple for their picket fence and 2.5 kids. Maybe eventually a mansion akin to the Harringtons’ in Loch Nora after pulling his weight at his father’s company -- whatever it was that Harrington Senior did. 

But that isn’t Steve. Tommy knows that and, heck, even Wheeler figured it out eventually. Steve was born from his mother’s drama and his father’s callousness. He isn’t much like them, no, not cruel enough (Tommy has that covered), but he certainly carries enough of their traits to ensure that a simple life in the suburbs will probably never be attainable. 

Between Mr Harrington’s constant cheating and his wife’s annual breakdowns, Steve never stood a chance. The guy has a compulsive need to somehow always land himself in the worst of situations. Case in point, apparently. 

Carol is dressed and ready, waiting with his keys in hand and his hold-all slung over her slight shoulders. 

Her annoyance, bubblegum popping through her watermelon chapstick, belies her worry. But Tommy can see right through it, and snatches the keys before she can say another word. 

  
  


**...**

In the parking lot of Hawkins’ General, Tommy slots his mom’s old Honda Civic next to Byers’ beat up rust bucket and hopes they won’t need to have a confrontation. 

Jonathan Byers ran off with Wheeler a few days ago, after all. Shotgun wedding, maybe. Come crawling back to rub it in Steve’s face, or out of guilt, maybe, he tries to rationalise. 

The receptionist at the front desk isn’t one he’s familiar with, but she seems distracted or uncaring enough not to call out that he’s clearly not Thomas Hagan Sr. 

The reason for her indifference becomes apparent when the room she directed them to winds up containing a handful of people that are in no way related to the patient.

Harrington looks like he's cracking. Like his joints and edges started fissures that are shaking his entire body into nothing. He’s sat on the bed in sickly scrubs that no doubt flash his butt when he stands up (if he can stand up). Around him, there are, like, four kids. Maybe. Nancy looks like a kid half the time so it’s often hard to tell at first glance. But Tommy can see now, by the way that she’s glaring at him. Turns out Carol can see too, because her hip is cocking to the side in that way that spells the onslaught of vicious words and cutting remarks. 

Tommy’s hand touches the small of her back delicately, urging her into the room alongside him. It’s not like they haven’t fought with Harrington before, it’s just been a really long period of ignoring each other this time around.

It’s funny that the thing that strikes him most of all is how sticky Harrington looks. Like his face has been wiped clean, blackened wounds stitched shut, but there still remains a sweaty sheen that blankets his skin. Somehow white as a sheet and rosy red, all at the same time. 

Between a split lip and swollen cheeks, Harrington utters, all slurred and messy:

“You can’t jus’ come in here t’like, _make fun of me_ , Tommy. ‘S not cool.”

Before either of them can reply, Chief Hopper, who’s been staring at them like he’s just _waiting_ to kick them out, huffs out in interruption. 

“You two can’t be here right now. Harrington’s in no shape to be gossiping.”

Carol takes offense, because she always takes offense, and parts the small gathering of kids (including Hargrove’s kid sister) and single fellow teenager like the red sea. 

“We’re not here to gossip, Chief. Just brought Stevie something more comfortable to change into.”

Wheeler, looking for any reason to get rid of them apparently, lifts Tommy’s hold-all from where Carol has it dumped on the bed. 

“You don’t get it, you two can’t be here right now, you’re interfering with Steve’s care.” Big bug eyes dart between the two of them, though Tommy’s moved a little closer now -- still far enough away from the gaping kids, though. 

“And besides, there’s no way in hell that Tommy’s clothes are going to fit Steve.”

Carol’s gum pops, spells disaster to no one but Tommy and maybe Steve, whose eyes have widened in the crowded cot, glued to Carol’s every slight move like he’s prepared to hold her back in this state. 

She doesn’t do much, though. Merely rights the position of the hold-all on the bed and begins casually listing off the facts of the situation like she’s the calm one. 

“Actually, princess, we’re the only two people -- aside from the Chief here, probably -- that are allowed to be in this room right now.” Not necessarily true, but Tommy doesn’t elect to point out his father’s absence. 

“And besides, these are Steve’s clothes. So there is no _doubt_ in my mind that they will fit him.”

The Chief sighs gruffly into the palms of his hands, looking like he’d really love to be absolutely anywhere else right now, but knowing that he’s bound by some sort of legal obligation to be present while Steve is in this state. 

He turns to the three kids, a warning evident in his eyes. 

“You three ought to go check on Will, _yeah_? God knows he could use better company than Wheeler.” 

They eye the Chief suspiciously, like they’re not dumb or whatever and know he just wants to get rid of them. Or like they know this is about to turn ugly, and want a front row seat to the drama. 

Noticing their hesitance, Steve pushes himself up higher in the bed, squinting in annoyance at them with his one okay-looking eye. 

“Y’all heard Hop -- _scram_ , ‘kay?” He waves a hand towards the door, knuckles a red and purple contrast to his white surroundings. They pause for another moment before finally listening to him, no doubt with plans to return later. Which Tommy doesn’t get, because how does Steve even _know_ these kids? And why do they care so much? He and Carol are the only ones who care. 

“And hey, _hello_ , you dipshits better not cause Mrs Byers ‘ny trouble, _capiche_?” 

The three nod, the weird curly-haired one seeming to take it way too seriously, with a solemn bow before brushing past Hargrove’s sister and the Sinclair kid; who mutters _capiche?_ to himself like he can’t believe the word just exited Steve’s mouth. 

All the while, Wheeler seethes. Like they’re lying, like it’s their fault Steve looks like he’s just been pummelled by a semi. 

Her fists clench the rails they must have erected at the sides of the bed for Steve’s safety, lips wound up in a pout while Carol pulls the Springstein shirt out of his hold-all and presents it to Steve like it’s going to make him immediately love them again. 

“Look, Stevie. You wanna put it on now? Brought you some pajama pants too. It’s real cold in here.”

Harrington seems compliant. Lazily attempting to contort his way out of the hospital gown, with Carol leaning over the rail to help him. 

But Wheeler rounds on them both as Steve is manhandled, looking a frizzed and pretty exhausted mess, frankly. All sweaty with bags under her eyes, like Steve wasn’t the only one who’d seen some shit last night. 

“Who told you he was here? You three aren’t even _friends_ anymore. You stopped caring about him the second he and I started dating, so I don’t know why you’re playing all nice now.” 

She seems to consider her words for a second, before asking:

“Did Hargrove send you here? To assess the damage. Because you can tell him that Steve _will_ be pressing charges, and he will _not_ get away with this.”

From the bed, where Carol had finally managed to get him into his pajama pants, still under the gown, Steve hisses a quick “Nance, _chill out_.”

But she does not chill out, and she whips her glare back to Tommy just in time for his response. 

“Look, Wheeler. I couldn’t give a single fuck about Hargrove.” And he really couldn’t, not after he lay hands on Steve. Not after he did this. 

“Me and Carol are here because when Steve gets hurt, the hospital calls my house. Been that way for a few years now, unofficially at first. But now we’re his emergency contacts, and we’re here because he’s our _friend_.” He scoffs, knowing how he will sound, knowing how deep he can cut. 

“Which is more than you can say, really. I’m surprised Stevie boy is even letting you in the room after you cheated on him with the freak. That’s _real_ fucked up, princess. So you should probably go.”

Nancy gasps, the Chief rolls his eyes from where he is now sitting and blindly gazing at a magazine, and Steve looks at Tommy like he’s remembering he’s there all over again. 

“Nuh _uh_ , Tommy. Tha’s not even how it is. _They’re_ in _love_ \-- _ow_ , Carol -- i’s cool.”

At that, Wheeler blanches, and Tommy wants to launch into this whole big thing about how everyone could see that Byers had the hots for his girl from a mile away, but is stopped in his tirade by another, admittedly more concerning, groan from Steve. 

It has the Chief rising from his seat instantly, nudging Carol aside from where she’s managed to loosen the knots and remove Steve’s gown. From where it has fallen to reveal his blackened chest, like a well of ink had spilled and begun to purple around the edges. 

She leans back against Tommy, hand to her mouth, obviously having not expected bruising so far down. Even Wheeler seemed to have thought that most of the damage had been kept to his face. 

Steve curls in on himself, doing his best to drag his plaid covered knees to his chest. But gently, more gentle than Tommy has ever seen him handle Steve (especially given the amount of times he’s had to manhandle Steve out of parties), Chief Hopper pushes his knees down again so they’re flat to the bed. He pries Steve’s hands away from his chest, where he near whimpers at the contact with his skin, where gooseflesh has started to spread. 

It brings to mind Hargrove’s tendency to target Steve at practise, all _plant your feet_ , and tackling him to the ground. Brings to mind the way Hargrove used to bitch about all of Steve’s Nike trainers. Like only _pussies_ wear trainers like that, that his mean old man told him that real men wear steel toed boots. _Working_ men. Even bought him a pair. 

His forearm swings around to rest along Carol’s collarbone, pulling her even closer to his chest for comfort. 

“How’d you get those nasty looking bruises, Stevie boy? Do I even wanna _see_ the other guy?”

It doesn’t earn the laugh that Tommy would have once received. Instead, all that seems to matter is the sudden vacancy in Steve’s dark eyes, like Billy Hargrove kicking his chest in is the last of his concerns. 

“‘S cold, Tomm- ” 

Nancy reaches over to rub at a bare, freckled arm, and Steve’s shoulders almost tense in response. 

Tommy tries to quell the bubble of satisfaction that rises in his chest at that image. He’s working on being a better person, right? Or at least trying to look like it. 

But Steve looks all helpless and sad. Like they’re kids again and he’s busted his eyebrow on the curb because they spent that one summer trying to do skateboard tricks with zero knowledge or guidance. Lips wobbling because _yeah_ , his parents were home _that_ time, but they were too busy screaming at each other in the master bedroom to acknowledge that Steve was hurt, Steve was _crying_. 

And that was Tommy’s least favourite thing to witness. The thing he had witnessed more than any living person on the planet; Steve’s parents included. 

So he sees those wobbly lips, the heaving chest, the way Steve’s hands are in swollen fists around the Chief of Police’s thick arms. He sees all that and he removes himself from Carol, tugs at the zip of his sweater and removes that too. 

When he brushes past Wheeler to stand at the other side of the cot, he makes sure to refrain from nudging her. He makes sure to make this about Steve, not some rivalry that he has going on with some _junior_. 

“Hey, Stevie, you wanna maybe put this on? You’re hot as shit in Springstein but this might be a little easier to get on right now. Plus, Carol’s right, like always: it’s cold as balls in here.”

Steve’s eyes remain vacant between all the burst capillaries and broken skin, but only for another moment. He nods at Tommy’s words, removing an arm from the Chief so Tommy can grab it and start working it into the cottony sleeve. 

He passes the other sleeve around to the Chief, who waits for Tommy to adjust the fabric where it’s twisted at Steve’s shoulder blade before taking his turn. 

None of this makes sense to Tommy -- why Hargrove chose now of all times to lose his shit at Steve, why Wheeler would ditch him for the guy who took topless pictures of her, why Steve is acting like nothing has really changed between them while clinging to the Chief like he’s his new _dad_ or some shit, when not even a year ago he was hauling their asses to the station to teach them a lesson. 

But he’s not dumb enough to question it. 

Not when, despite looking in worse shape than Tommy has ever seen him, Steve looks relatively content. Like he’s secure in the feeling of being surrounded by people, people who might actually care about him. Like the kids, or Chief Hopper, or even Nancy still. 

He’d like to think that Steve never questioned their devotion -- his and Carol’s -- that he never felt alone, or like they didn’t care about him. But he knows that’s not true, knows Carol feels the guilt weighing her down too. 

It’s meant to be this whole complicated situation that none of them really wish to navigate, because it’s easier to throw insults at each other and take sides, rather than actually have to acknowledge _why_ they’re all hurt. Why they felt like Nancy was taking him away, changing him. Why Steve maybe felt like another person inside, and that Tommy and Carol wouldn’t love and accept the real him, like they hadn’t known the _real_ him all along. Like he had to push them away to grow as a person. 

To Tommy at the time, it all felt so unnecessary. Like ride or die was a given for them, like none of them needed time apart to actually become separate entities; individuals. He’s stubborn like that, in his belief in their bond. So stubborn, in fact, that he pushed the limits to the point of breaking. 

But even Steve seems to think they can bounce back from that. Seems to notice now that they have always cared, just maybe not in the right way. 

He leans back against Hopper, much to the man’s apparent disdain, and grins up at Tommy; quickly glancing to Carol and Wheeler like they’re in on his drug-fuelled joke. 

“Cold balls, Tom? That ain’t normal. Right Hop? You should go ‘n’ get one of the nurses to check it out.” 

And his smile softens, gaze a blur and cheeks a little warmer. A smile that curls a warm reminder around his insides and squeezes so tight that all of the fondness within, overflows. Steve speaks once more before shutting his swollen eyes, all slurred and stumbling, in the vein of their most fond memories.

“Can’t go leavin’ me now.”

**Author's Note:**

> i do love nancy, so this wasn't intended to bash her. but from tommy's perspective, well, the guy really dislikes her. that being said i do think he presented a surprising amount of... almost understanding about parts of the situation? idk anyway. 
> 
> this trio were always the most intriguing to me. and while i do think tommy and carol are assholes and bullies, clearly the three of them have more history than just being friends since the show's beginning. steve's cultivated his whole persona around being popular and being the leader of their little squad, but i believe that there were more genuine parts of their friendship. or parts that tommy and carol could see through, which he wasn't always aware of. 
> 
> i'd love to write more for these three, for hopper and steve too, so let me know what you think if you have the time pls. thank you so much for taking the time to read!


End file.
